


Hey Suburbia

by gross_batpanda



Series: Chicagoland [2]
Category: American Revolution RPF, Turn (TV 2014)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Dirty Talk, First Time, Grooming, Id Fic, Loss of Virginity, M/M, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Underage Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-06-19
Updated: 2016-06-19
Packaged: 2018-07-16 00:46:53
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,182
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7245469
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/gross_batpanda/pseuds/gross_batpanda
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Modern predator George Washington, underage Benjamin Tallmadge. What it says on the tin.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Hey Suburbia

For all his faults, George is a stickler for legality. Seventeen is the age of consent in Illinois, and so until that’s reached he keeps his damn distance. He keeps to himself, finds there’s no need to court trouble. But he sees the worshipful way Tallmadge looks at him, and the youthful pride that he’s yet to grow out of. He’s almost too pretty to be truly interesting, but he’s always hanging around. George tries to give him the brush-off. That only makes him try harder. 

He’s around, he’s interested. He wants to learn, and George is more than happy to instruct him. He has time to kill when Ben gets off school, a VHS collection he’s been working on building up since the eighties. Ben’s eyes glaze over when they watch tapes together; his breath comes in shallow, rapid bursts as he stares open-mouthed, at the screen. George mail-orders. It’s preferable to the hassle of getting them in-person. There’s all right shops in Wicker Park, but they cater to straight tastes, and George doesn’t so much incline that way. 

They sit on George’s thirdhand couch, Ben with his blue eyes wide like saucers, worrying his bottom lip between his teeth. For the most part they’re quiet. Ben gets through a couple beers, George keeps a constantly lit cigarette between his fingers, his other hand lightly dangling over his thigh. He keeps it in his pants, of course. No need for Ben to be distracted by that. Better he learn from a professional what to do when the times comes. 

After hours at the bar is when Ben touches him for the first time. Through his jeans, with hands that shake so badly the tremors run up his arms. The look of awed pride when he feels the bulge George has been fighting all night practically makes him sigh in relief. George relishes the dark shiver that goes through him, gives Ben a wicked smile. “That’s all you, Benjamin. You did that.” 

Ben’s eyes are heavy lidded as, encouraged by George, he gives the warm ridge a squeeze. His fingers are delicate, the pressure barely noticeable. He shakes his head in dismay, gruffs out, “That how you touch yourself when you’re alone? Come on, Tallmadge, it won’t bite you. Harder.” 

Emboldened, Ben opens his palm, flexes it, and then lays it to rest once more against the denim. “Good boy,” George says, as he squeezes more firmly, and Ben’s cheeks flush with the praise. George lets him touch as much as he wants to, through the pants, until he is aching for his own release. He sends Ben home, though, and lets his own desire subside once he’s back in his own office. The time will come soon enough, and he can wait until Ben is ready. 

Ready takes a good month, during which time Ben slobbers on George’s dick enough for him to think it’s hopeless. Fucking him promises to be more rewarding, if the constant whines that drip from his mouth are any indication. At least it’ll be interesting: virgins always are. Ben is fully naked and laid out on the double bed, and permits George to spread his legs with his hands. His calves have a little dark hair but his thighs are smooth and pale, and yield prettily to the scrape of George’s teeth against the skin. Stroking his thumbs along the muscle must tickle, as Ben twitches at the touch, and he laughs, a stupid childish giggle when George touches a finger to his perineum. The laugh slides sideways into a gasp as George darts out the very tip of his tongue and touches it to the hard little nub of skin. He laves it over that spot, sensitive enough to have Ben getting used to the idea, but less shameful than going straight for his hole. 

When his perineum is glossy with spit, puffy from attention, George dips his head lower. The first taste is always the sweetest, and he wants to savor it as much as the wanton noises that are coming from deep within Ben’s chest. 

Course he barely has to do a thing to get Ben writhing on the tip of his tongue. It’s exactly as he suspected, he thinks, as he laps the spot with relish. A religious upbringing will screw with their heads in ways that manifest only later, and come to blossom under the right tutelage. They never really shed their shame at feeling pleasure, and George has to admit, he likes that part almost as much as he does divesting them of their tightly wound virginity. What’s better than the kid who skips out on Bible study to learn how to take cock? What sweeter corruption could there be? 

Tongue turns to fingers, then both at once as he gives Ben his middle and ring fingers, flicks around the stretched out rim of his asshole with his tongue. “Shit,” he gasps out, as George loosens him up. His head is thrown back against the pillow, stupid hair spread out like a centerfold. He has thought about instructing Ben to cut it, knows that all he’d have to do is say the word and it would be shorn off in an instant, but it’s been advantageous to have, teaching him how to give head to the best of his ability. A damn shame; the kid looks like he’d be a natural. 

What he is, though, is a natural fucking slut. On this count he was correct, but he’s always been able to peg them. George’s fingers quicken and Ben’s skin heats beautifully, a wave of pink spreading out from his thighs. When George finally draws out his own cock, the pressure makes him hiss with denied need. He’s been beyond patient, opening this kid up, and now he needs to fuck him until neither of them can see straight. 

“Stay there,” he instructs, and reaches over for the condoms. They’re lubricated, but Ben’s going to need more. It’s a tricky move, keeping two fingers hooked inside so he stays open, nice and easy, while opening the packet with his teeth, then rolling it on one-handed. “Can you slick me up?” he asks, and jerks his head to indicate the KY. Ben gasps as he shifts, gropes over his head and comes up with the tube. “Put it right on there,” he nods down at his erection. Ben squeezes it out; cold even through the latex barrier. “Get it good and slippery,” George tells Ben, who’s already gone wide-eyed at the prospect. He wiggles his fingers and Ben reacts by clutching helplessly onto the shaft. “It’s going inside you, princess, can’t be too careful.” 

Penetration provides minor relief, but it pales in comparison to the sweet expression of pain that twists up Ben’s face. George barely gives him anything at all, and even with all that prep, he’s pushing George out as much as, if not more than, George slips in. “Gotta relax,” he says, and leans down to kiss Ben’s useless mouth. The movement nudges the head of his cock a tiny fraction deeper, until only the warm tip finds home. “Open up, Benjamin, open up for me.” Ben allows George to draw his tongue into his mouth, to suck on it. 

It takes some doing, but he gets all the way in eventually. Ben’s sweat has left smears on the pale sheets; it stands out in beads against his forehead. “There you go,” he soothes. “Look at you, so fucking proud of you. You take it so good, sweetheart. I’m gonna push now, relax, relax.” 

Ben’s entire body convulses as George thrusts home, fingers nestled in the divots above his ass, resting there like the frets of a guitar. He’s gone soft, he notices as he looks down. The head of his cock is an angry bright red, made all the more visible in contrast to the milky white skin of his stomach, as it drips against his belly. 

“Is that normal?” Ben’s head is thrown back but he cranes his neck up to look. “Is it supposed to--?”

George feels his patience tried, but Ben has been silent as a tomb, hasn’t whined a single word of protest until this very minute, so he supposes he can explain what happens the first time. 

“It’s fine,” he grits out between his teeth. “You’re good.” 

He leverages himself back out and scrutinizes Tallmadge. His chin has the defiant jut of a know-it-all, a mouth that’s prettier than it is useful, and an ass that had taken his fingers extremely well. They went in easy, his hand turned so that the thumb faced upright, and Ben winced at the stretch but his cock had grown hard nonetheless, stayed that way as he scissored them. He’ll firm back up soon. 

“I can tell,” says George, as he plunges back in so slowly that Ben has no choice but to yield, to open for him, “that you’re going to need to be fucked all the time, aren’t you Benjamin?” 

A small guttural noise works it way out from Ben’s chest and George reaches over, gives his cock a perfunctory tug. It straightens to attention nicely. He leans back; satisfied. With a roll of his hips he sheathes himself once more in the hot confines of Ben’s ass. Beneath him, Ben squirms as if he means to escape, his pink mouth falling open in a cross between a sigh and a cry. The helpless look goes straight to his own cock, iron-hard and heavy between his legs. “I know,” he soothes, and slows his tempo to a crawl. “I know. It feels good, doesn’t it?” 

“Oh,” Ben cries out, and his stomach muscles twitch in response. He gulps down a breath, sucks in air between his teeth. George admonishes him, “Asked you a question, kid. We can always stop if you don’t like it.” 

He leans heavily on one forearm then and makes as if to pull out abruptly. It would be cruel, especially since Ben’s only now eased him inside, but then again, if he has to stop, the hot clamp of his asshole will feel just as good the second time around. He’ll have to mind his own advice these next few months. Ben gives off every indication that he’s gagging for it, and will be happy to bend over any time George wants him to. He’s certainly taken to sucking cock with that kind of unmitigated enthusiasm, though George would trade all the excited slobber in the world for a handful of solid skills, however. Such a fucking waste. 

“No!” Ben exclaims, his eyes widening at the implication. “I mean, yes.” He sighs again when George slides back home, as if he’s relieved not to be abandoned. “Yes,” he swallows down the grimace and gives George a defiant response. “Yes, I like it.” His eyes slide closed in pleasure. 

“Can you tell me that?” he coaxes, and Ben turns his head, afraid to say the words. “One time, baby, can you tell me what you like?” 

Ben stammers charmingly over the admission. Yes, he likes George’s tongue, his hands, his cock. 

“You like getting fucked? That what you like?” 

“Yes,” Ben chokes out. “Yes, I like it, I like it when you fuck me.” 

“Good,” says George, and takes Ben’s hands in his own, pinning them over his head. There’s a squishing sound from beneath his stomach as lube trickles out and onto Ben’s bare leg. The stuff is well warmed up, but Ben shivers nonetheless. “That’s really good, Benjamin. I knew you’d like it, knew you’d like taking cock. Was I right?” 

“Yes,” gasps Ben, and it’s the hard-won truth. He’s passed the point where pain matters anymore, and he’s taking George so beautifully now that it takes everything he has to rein himself in. “Can you come like this?” he asks, and then shakes his own head. He can’t expect so much so soon. Too early for that party trick. Instead he allows the weight of his stomach to press down against Ben’s shaft, the solid pressure enough to tip him over before he even knows it’s happening. 

He swears a blue streak when he comes, and George, tired of holding back, follows him quickly there, his orgasm roaring out with a grunt and a tremendous load into the condom. Also a fucking waste, he thinks, as he gingerly eases out and ties off. There’s plenty more where that came from, however. 

Ben’s gone a bit cross-eyed, and he shakes his head at the cigarette George shakes out for him. He pulls his knees to his chest and winces at the movement. From here the damage doesn’t look too bad, but George will inspect him in a minute. He’s not a fucking monster. He’ll drive him to the train station, even, because no goddamn way is he spending the night with a seventeen year old in his bed. Can’t have him mooning over George like they’re boyfriends or whatever. The line is tricky, but he’ll walk it. Always does.


End file.
